To Get a Dream of Life Again
by UndercoverMoffat
Summary: Looking back on it, Dean would never have guessed that one mishap with an electrical outlet would end up changing his entire life.


**To Get a Dream of Life Again  
by HeavensRebel/smitey-mcsmiterten/iatytily**

**Supernatural  
Pairings: Dean/Castiel**

**Hospital!AU  
Rated T for Language**

**Word Count: 6,182**

**Started: September 20****th**** 2012, 8:56 pm****  
****Ended: September 29****th**** 2012, 2:19 pm**

**Summary: Looking back on it, Dean would never have guessed that one mishap with an electrical outlet would end up changing his entire life.**

**A/N: This was heavily inspired by a book I'm currently reading ****who's title I will not reveal for spoiler reasons. Another case of What Other Fandoms Give You OTP Fic Ideas. Really, there's no cure for it.****  
****Also: My medical knowledge is limited to endless hours of watching **_**House, Scrubs**_**, and the Discovery Health channel****, so you'll have to excuse any errors or inconsistencies. I did attempt to do research for some of this, so I'm hoping that'll help!**

**Warnings: Character Death, and lots of tears**

**AND FINALLY: My Playlist for This Fic:**

**I Need a Doctor by Eminem  
Time of Dying by Three Days Grace  
Breath of Life by Florence + the Machine**

Looking back on it, Dean would never have guessed that one mishap with an electrical outlet would end up changing his entire life.

No, his life didn't flash before his eyes – just archs of electricity dancing across his vision – and yeah, so maybe it fucked up his heart, but that's not why his life was changed. He didn't – doesn't – have much left to live anyway. The doctors are telling him he could drop dead at any given moment.

He's ready. He always was.

They crammed him into some hospital bed, hooked up to an EKG and an IV with some badass pain medication

The TV wasn't all that great. Just the daytime soap operas. The typical, "Oh, Scott, is it true you love me for me and not my money!" "Of course I love you, Karen, but I have to tell you. . ." "It's okay, I love you too." "I slept with your twin sister . . . and now she's pregnant with my child." You know, the plot twists that everybody sees coming but gasp over anyway.

The nurses weren't that hot. I mean, a couple of them were seriously pretty, and young, too, except for this one bitch Ruby that jabbed his IV into his the back of his hand three or four times 'till she found a vein ("Sorry," she said with a sickly sweet smile that made Dean want to pound her face in), and the doctor's were pretty good-looking. (So he has a healthy appreciation/occasional craving for dick. Sue him.) But none that really caught his eye.

It's not like he was expecting some _General Hospital_, big epic romance story type shit. (Though he's still not sure if _General Hospital_ even takes place in an actual hospital.) He didn't really get that either.

He got the closet you could get to it when you only know someone for seven weeks, three days, fourteen hours and fifty-six minutes. Not that he was counting.

It started during a particularly bad batch of _All My Children _episodes, in which Ruby, Queen Demon Bitch Number 1, came in and more or less forced him to get out (he could sue – he's a dying man after all) so she could change the sheets or whatever.

So he half-crawled into his wheelchair (_with no help from you, Demon Bitch) _and wheeled himself – after a good five or so minutes of figuring how the hell to do that – into the hallway.

It was a quiet day, just a few people bustling in and out. He wasn't on a floor that got much attention, anyway. He demanded he be removed from ICU, because there were sure as hell people who needed it more than he did, and so they relocated him to some no-name floor. Maybe Recovery, or something along those lines.

One of the doctors, who's name Dean never bothered to learn, but he appropriately deemed Dr. Sexy (because, hell-o, he totally was) smiled at him as he struggled to get through the doorway. There was a small pain in his chest every time he breathed, and walking was long since out of the question. People on TV made navigating wheelchairs look easy, that was for sure.

Dr. Sexy offered him no help, but he got through just fine on his own and then stopped in front of the nurse's station, not knowing what to do with himself.

One of the nurses, a motherly one named Ellen, glanced up at him from her clipboard as she leaned against the long counter. "Name's Dean, right?"

"Yes ma'am," Dean smiled at her, hands folded in his lap.

She raised an eyebrow. "You look a little bored, Dean." She looked down at her stack of papers again. "Try going one floor up. Maybe you'll learns something."

He was a little taken a back by her words. "What do you mean?"

She looked up at him again, snatching up her clipboard. "You look like someone who needs some teaching to." And then she marched off down the hallway, leaving Dean to sit there in his wheelchair and contemplate her words.

Then, he believed she was calling him stupid or incompetent or something along those lines, and that pissed him off. Who the hell was she to say something like to him? She didn't know anything. But now, seven weeks, three days, fourteen hours and fifty-nine minutes later, he knows she didn't mean it like that all. She meant it spiritually.

Just to prove a point, though, he resolved to head to said floor and come back to brag about that there was nothing new to learn, that he knew all about the simple little facts like the Earth is actually slightly pear-shaped.

Then again, he didn't know what one floor up was.

The elevator dinged too slowly – it was cramped in that little box with a pair of arguing doctors, one a fiery red head, the other a shorter, golden-haired sarcastic _jerk_ who sucked on a lollipop and rolled his eyes a lot. They called each other "Dr. Milton", the red-head, and "Dr. Novak" the jerk. They didn't stop either or so much as acknowledge Dean as he mumbled an excuse me and attempted to wheel his way out.

It was oddly quiet one floor up. A certain . . . weariness? No, more like _tiredness . . . _clung in the air, and to the few nurses that waltzed past. They didn't acknowledge him much past brief eye contact, and one of them had puffy eyes and a wad of tissues in her hand. Her name tag said _Naomi_, a pretty name, Dean thought idly.

He couldn't quite figure out what it was, why this floor was so stifling. But he was determined to find out, so he wheel ahead, peering into various rooms. There were some posters and message boards tacked up here and there, but he didn't bother trying to read them – he already threw out his contacts and his other, few, unnecessary possessions. (He figured he wouldn't need them after he was dead.) They were nothing more than brightly colored signs to him.

The first room he peered in had a mother and a child, the mother's arms held tightly around her son. The boy smiled up at her though, and even from his place in the hallway, he could see the tears shining in the mom's eyes. "Jesse T." the nameplate read on the wall beside the door. Dean swallowed hard and kept going.

The second room was empty except for a messy bunch of sheets, and the third's door was closed, but there were muffled sounds coming from inside that Dean certainly wasn't going to think about. The fourth had an older, dark-skinned man who screamed obscenities at a football game flickering on his TV screen. He had those tubes in his nose that people used to help them breathe – Dean couldn't for the life of him tell you what they were called – and three bands around his left wrist, like he'd been here before and hadn't bothered to take the others off. His nameplate read "Rufus" but there was no initial or last name given. Dean allowed himself a small smile at the man before continuing on.

The fifth room contributed to the extreme altering of Dean's life.

There wasn't anything particularly exciting about it. The same fading lights and red-and-blue checked floor. The same spotted curtains and vase of dying flowers. The room itself never really mattered, it was simply who was in it.

At the time, all Dean can remember thinking his he was downright _beautiful. _Dean doesn't really think that about anyone – the last two people who he thought was beautiful, well, the relationship s didn't go well. It's a rarity for Dean to think such a thing.

He was, though, this man with the black-and-yellow striped knit hat on his head, and his wide blue eyes. He wasn't exactly doing tricks when Dean saw him, just reading some book who's title Dean didn't recognize. Dean guesses it was the way he read it, with the look of utmost concentration on his face, the way his mouth moved as if whispering the words outloud to himself. Occasionally he'd smile slightly at whatever was funny on the page, or would frown, thumb back a few pages, and then read on. Dean watched him for longer than he probably should have, to the point where it was more than creepy, until finally, the stranger looked up at Dean with those piercing blue eyes.

Dean practically flailed when he was caught staring, waving his hands in an apologetic manner and averting his gaze. "Sorry – I -" he started, but the man didn't do so much as blink, just stared at Dean like he knew him. That made Dean's words die in his throat, and he could do nothing more than stare right back.

"Are you going to come in?" the stranger said in a deep voice that reminded Dean of sex.

Dean started, and for a minute he contemplated hightailing it out of there, but something about this man's intense gaze drew him in. Thinking about it now, Dean could believe it was fate or something.

He never believed in fate.

"What are you reading?" Dean asked, because Dean was never the first to say his name. Emphasis on was. He's reconsidered a lot of things about himself since then.

"It's called _The Bo__ok Thief_," the stranger didn't offer Dean the book like he expected him to. "I don't particularly enjoy fiction, but this is well worth it."

"What do you enjoy then?" Dean said, because he just couldn't help himself.

The stranger offered a small smile that did wonders to the blue of his eyes. "My name is Castiel."

And it was then that Dean knew this was going somewhere. "Dean," he said, but not giving his last name, because he didn't do that either. "Weird name."

"I'm assuming your referring to mine," Castiel set his book aside. "Yes, I suppose it is. My mother, she named my brothers and sister of mine after angels."

Dean scoffed – he laughed at the face of religion. At least he used to. He just never thought such things could exist, especially not _ang__els. _(Every night his mother would tell him "angels are watching over you" – and every night before he went to bed, he would think, _where the fuck were they when you died in that fire.) _His dying wasn't going to change that, either.

"I don't see what's amusing," Castiel said, but his smile grew, and Dean looked back up at him, meeting his eyes. Another new thing, eye contact. Dean usually avoided it. "I was named after the Angel of Thursday. My brother's, Michael, Gabriel, and Lucifer –"

"Lucifer?!" Dean choked out.

Castiel laughed, actually laughed, and the sound was mesmerizing and for reasons Dean never knew existed, he wanted to hear it again. "It means Morning Star. He was the first born, just as the sun appeared over the horizon, my father would say." He grinned. "My sister is Rachel."

"Well those are all _normal _names," Dean folded his arms behind his head. "Except maybe Lucifer."

"We call him Luc," he pronounced it _Luke._

"There ya go!" Dean returned Castiel's smile. "How'd you get saddled with the weird one?"

"Luck of the draw," Castiel said and it sounded like an attempt at a joke. He tugged at the hat on his head, pulling it lower over his ears.

"I like your hat," Dean said, and he was glad he did because it wasn't an all together lie.

"I don't," Castiel replied with a roll of his startlingly blue eyes. "It's quite bothersome."

"Well, then, why do you wear it?" Dean leaned forward in his wheelchair, as if anticipating the answer, but as soon as the words were out, and Castiel fell silent, Dean wished he could snatch them back again._ Way to go, Winchester. You're in a fucking hospital, do the math._

"My brother Gabriel bought it for me," Castiel broke the silence with another easy smile and Dean found himself breathing and drowning all at once. "He said it reminded him of my childhood fascination with honeybees."

"Honeybees?" Dean laughed.

"Yes, I still enjoy watching them. I used to keep one for a pet," he said these words seriously and in a quieted tone, a blush coloring his cheeks, and it was just about the cutest damn thing Dean ever saw.

Dean opened his mouth to ask Castiel what his honeybee's name was – because he was genuinely curious – but a nurse walked in just then, with flustering hands and long, dark hair. "Castiel," she said, eying Dean. "Is he bothering you?"

Dean frowned, but Castiel said, "Not at all, Meg. We were having a lovely conversation about honeybees."

"You should get some rest," she patted his head over his knit-hat. She turned her gaze to Dean, "That's your cue to leave."

Castiel stared at him with those big blue eyes of him, and there was a promise sparking just around his pupils – I'll see you later. So all Dean did was nod, give Castiel a half-wave, and wheeled his way out of there.

It wasn't until he bothered to read the posters tacked up near the elevator that he truly realized this was the oncology floor.

**~X~**

Castiel kept his promise and practically materialized out of nowhere while Dean carefully studied an episode of SpongeBob (in his defense, there was nothing else on.)

"Jesus!" he spluttered when Castiel's IV-On-Wheels, as Dean had dubbed it, squeaked against the tile floor.

"Unfortunately it's just me," Castiel said with another of those grins, but he looked pale and sickly, with circles under his eyes, like he hadn't gotten much sleep. Without prompting he moved towards the chair beside Dean's hospital bed and sat down. "How are you today, Dean?"

Dean flicked his TV off. "Bored."

Castiel coughed once into his wrist, then shook his head and peered back up at Dean. "Would you like to go outside today?" He said before Dean could ask if he was alright.

Dean spared a quick glance out the window – it was only one or so in the afternoon, but the sky was darkened by thick storm clouds that looked like they'd release rain at any minute.

"Sure," he responded.

It was cold outside, Dean learned quickly when the automatic doors at the entrance whirred open, and he shivered against the bitter wind. Castiel only leaned into it, with his eyes closed and inhaling deeply. "I suppose this means there won't be any bees outside today," he said, and he sounded so genuinely disappointed that Dean just had to smile.

"Sorry," he said, but Castiel was already behind him and pushing him forward with one hand, dragging his IV along with the other. Dean didn't know how he managed it, but he did, quiet deftly, too.

He took them to a park bench bolted into the sidewalk a few yards away from the entrance, where it was surrounded by bushes and trees, as if to conceal it from the rush of cars on the main road. Castiel sat down as soon as he could, face paler than before and huffing.

Without his permission, Dean's voice said, "Where's it at?"

Castiel looked at him, not the least bit surprised. After another moment of slow breathing, he replied, "A few patches in my lungs. They're harmful enough that they need to be drained of fluid build-up every few hours, but I'm still alive." He fiddled with the clear plastic tube of his IV. "I've refused the breathing machine and even an oxygen tank. It's awful enough Gabriel's ensuring that pain medication is injected into my veins every hour. There's no need to prolong this anymore than it necessary."

A lump appeared in Dean's throat but he didn't know what to say. He could tell that Castiel didn't want his pity, so he didn't say sorry. Dean certainly didn't want anyone to say sorry to him about his heart. Not at all.

"I got electrocuted," the words flew out of his mouth and hung in the air before he could stop them. "I'm an idiot when I'm drunk. I don't even really know what happened, but uh," he looked at his hands. "It triggered a massive heart attack, the doctor's said. My heart's just barely going. They're telling me I only have a few more weeks."

Castiel didn't say sorry either. "Have you done all you want to?"

Dean snorted. "Dude, I'm twenty-six. I never really thought about it, you know how it is. Thought I'd live forever."

"Me too," Castiel said and Dean met his eyes. It all but stole his breath away. "I was diagnosed a couple of years ago. I – I was in a bad spot in my life, and I see it as God sent. Hopefully in the next lifetime I'll be a good man."

"What are you, Buddhist?" Dean grinned as he said this, and for a moment he was afraid he'd offended Castiel, but he only laughed.

"No, I'm not really anything. I suppose it doesn't matter now."

Dean fell into a silent agreement.

Nothing matters when you're dying.

"Look," Castiel pointed excitedly to a flower bush in front of them, but his eyes still shone with unshed tears. Dean's eyes followed until he saw a lone bee settled on top of a flower Dean had no name for.

Above them, thunder boomed.

"He's a trooper," Dean said about the bee, who, apparently bored with his flower, picked up and flew away. The bee circled Castiel twice before disappearing off into the distance.

"Yes," Castiel said. "I suppose he is."

**~X~**

A couple of nights later, the two of them sit in Dean's room, Castiel settled on the hospital bed next to him in a manner that's way to comfortably considering they just met. Dean didn't mind.

He didn't watching what was on the screen, even though Castiel chatted eagerly away about it. Instead he watched Castiel's slight changes in expression. They were subtle, just little upturns of the eyebrows or non descriptive frowns, but Dean found each and every one of them endearing, and it gave him a warm glow in his stomach.

It wasn't until the third set of commercials or so that Castiel looked back at him, and for a moment that's all it was. Just the two of them, staring at each other, green against blue, and Dean wanted to kiss him so bad, but he didn't, because it would be entirely inappropriate, and there was no way he was giving this new found friendship up. That wasn't like Dean – he usually dove in headfirst. You'd think with only a few weeks to live, he'd be shagging anything that moves.

Castiel was different.

Knuckles rapped against the door then, and Dean blinked rapidly against the blue still staining his vision, even after Castiel had looked away. Castiel nudged him, and Dean turned to look at the room's new occupant.

"Sam?"

"Hey, Dean," his brother said, flicking his bangs out of his eyes and rocking back and forth on his feet. "Who's this?"

Ah, Sam, right to it.

"This is Cass," Dean answered, the nickname sliding more easily off his tongue than it probably should have. Castiel nudged him again and raised an eyebrow – ever so slightly – but didn't argue it, so Dean figured it was okay.

"Hey, Cass," Sam stepped forward, holding his hand out for Castiel to shake, who takes it in both of his.

"Hello, Sam," Castiel – Cass stared at Sam with that large, intense gaze of his, but unlike Dean who always fidgeted under it, Sam seemed unfazed and stared right back. "It's nice to meet you. Your Dean's brother, yes?"

"Yup!" Sam grinned and pulled away to find another spare chair, which he folded his gangly limbs into, the friggin' giant. "Are you guys watching _Doctor Who?"_

He gave Dean a look, like _We-are-so-talking-about-this-later._

They didn't talk about it later, though, even after the episode was over, and Cass parted – but not without giving Dean's cheek a kiss that left him blushing and stuttering and Sam practically doubled over in laughter.

They did talk about what Dean wanted to do, if he wanted to stay in the hospital or go home. "I'm not going to an empty apartment, and I'm not staying at your place," he swallowed, "I don't want you waking up one day and finding me dead on your couch." His tone was bitter and Sam actually shed a few tears.

"Yeah, I didn't think so," he wiped at his eyes but it was futile, because the damned tears just kept coming. Dean felt like shit for it – oh, if only he hadn't gotten drunk, if only he'd been a mature, responsible fucking adult.

"You're gonna go to law school right?" Dean punched his brother lightly on his upper arm. "Marry Jess, be a dad. White picket fence. Get a dog. Live your life." He choked on the last word, and then they were both crying, and maybe even sobbing, and that's all there was.

"I wish I could help you, Dean," Sam barely got the words out.

_Yeah,_ he thought. _Me too._

**~X~**

The first time Dean saw Castiel in the middle of chemotherapy, he actually, God-honest, almost cried.

He'd seen the whole set-up and process before, when his Aunt Karen had breast cancer and he and Sam would visit her and Bobby in the hospital, but it still took him by surprise. Castiel always looked so happy, and at least marginally healthy, and seeing him crammed into that chair with bleary eyes and slackened hands startled him.

It was his third week in knowing him, and in all that time they're friendship had only grown stronger. Three weeks isn't long, if you think about it, but for the both of them, oh yes. It was.

The nurses had caught on to their friendship by that point and when Dean, trying his hand at using a cane, as old as it made him felt, because that damned wheelchair was just too annoying, they directed him towards the room without another word.

He stood in the doorway for five minutes before Castiel looked up at him, just trying to hold all of his emotion is. Evidently, he wasn't doing a very good job because Cass' expression softened and he gestured towards the chair next to his without a word.

Dean hobbled towards it and collapsed in it with a sigh. "How you doing?"

Cass shrugged, coughing. "I could be worse." He pulled the heavy blanket covering his body tighter around himself.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "You could have my heart."

"I apologize," Castiel gave Dean a slow, lazy smile. "This must be awfully boring. Gabriel insisted, and really, I can't argue with my elder brother."

Dean smiled, but it felt strained. "Sam says hi, by the way."

"Hello to him, too."

They fell into silence, but it wasn't the least bit awkward. Somewhere along the way, Castiel offered Dean his hand, who held onto as tightly as he could without hurting him, until he fell asleep.

~**X~**

It wasn't until the week after that Dean realized he'd gotten way too attached to Castiel.

He realized while they played a game of _Sorry!, _of which he was losing, and Gabriel Novak came in, decked out in scrubs with a stray stethoscope hanging halfway off his neck. "Hey, baby bro," he chirped, picking up the clipboard clipped to the front of Castiel's hospital bed.

"Hello, Gabriel," Castiel replied without looking up from the board game.

"Just thought I'd drop in – Who's this?" he looked up, frowning at Dean. Dean gave a half-wave and a quiet, "Hey."

"This is Dean Winchester," Cass said with something in his voice that made goosebumps rise on Dean's arms. "He's become a very good friend of mine."

Gabriel narrowed hie eyes – Dean could spot a protective big brother a mile away, and everything about Gabriel screamed it. "Oh, really?"

"Yes," Castiel grinned. "You see, he has a heart condition, and we've made a bet to see which one of us dies first."

It really shouldn't have been funny, but it was, and Dean broke out in laughter, even though Gabriel stared at the two of them horrified and stormed his way out of there.

Dean was still laughing when Castiel said, "You'll have to excuse my brother, he's extremely sensitive."

"Cass," Dean got out around his giggles. "You're too amazing."

And then Cass stared at him with those startlingly blue eyes, and Dean's laughter vanished in his throat, and he stared right on back, and then somewhere they met halfway and he was kissing him and it was beautiful, and fantastic, and _wrong, oh so wrong _but neither of them cared.

It was chaste at first but it grew and moved and expanded until they were gripping each others faces and gasping and somehow they both started crying, and both of them wished more than anything in that moment that they weren't going to die.

"That probably wasn't a very good idea," Castiel breathed, and something low and hot curled in Dean's stomach. He was just about to pull away, but Castiel continued on. "I fear I may give you another heart attack."

And then Dean cracked a smile that faltered on his face. "Watch you're breathing, Cass."

A couple minutes later, they're side by side on the hospital bed and spilling out their entire life stories to each other, fingers entwined, and eyes red and raw from all the tears they've kept inside of them for far too long.

Castiel told Dean that he grew up on the other side of the state, but that his father was an abusive, schizophrenic, alcoholic that was either writing, screaming at some invisible monster, or passed out drunk. "Michael was out of the house first, and Lucifer was never very nice. He, ah, he was very violent. Gabriel watched out for me and Rachel was best as he could, but it was tiring. He was the first to emancipate himself from the family, and I followed soon after. Rachel was only thirteen when Gabriel turned eighteen, but he gained custody of her as soon as the courts would let him.

"He went to medical school, he's actually still an intern, but it's his last year, and he's just about the best they have. Rachel's studying musical theory in New York. I'm the only one that didn't go to college – like I said, I was in a bad spot when I was diagnosed. I've been holed up for years waiting to – waiting to die."

Dean swallowed hard, processing those words.

"My mom died when I was four," is the first thing he blurted out. "Faulty wiring in Sammy's nursery or something. I – I carried him out the front door.

"My dad was never really the same after that. He kind of went insane. Maybe it was just the grief, maybe it was his Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from his time in the Marines. Either way, I ended up raising Sam, more or less on my own. I don't regret it though, God I love that kid.

"I hate myself for this heart thing. Sam doesn't deserve it. I know he's got his girl, Jess, but I don't know, I guess I'm just nervous. He hasn't really even begun his adult life, and now he's gotta do it all on his own."

"It was an accident Dean," Castiel whispered after a pregnant silence. "Sometimes bad things just happen."

"I know, but," but he didn't know what, so they fell in their easy, usual silence again.

"I'm sorry about your dad," Dean offered when he was sure his voice wouldn't shatter.

"Likewise."

And because Cass was just so damn beautiful, Dean reached over and pulled his mouth to his again, slower this time, trying to tell him how much he cared without saying it at all.

~**X~**

It wasn't until Castiel was hooked up to a freaking breathing machine with a tube down his throat that Dean really realized how life short was.

According to Gabriel, who seemed to have a begrudging respect for Dean, Cass' lungs were so full of fluid that he was practically drowning. Castiel had refused treatment for far too long and now – Gabriel choked up at this part, and Dean never thought he'd see him cry, but he did and he told Dean it was almost over. That all of it was almost over.

Dean cried too, because a lot can happen in six weeks.

It was a miracle, really, those six weeks. Dean's heart was supposed to give out a long time ago, but he believed – still does – it was the people in his life that kept him going. Not only Sam, and even Jess, but the ghosts of his mother and father and now Castiel. Castiel who just showed up one day out of the clear blue sky and made Dean care about something other than himself and Sam. Dean didn't have friends, then, never really had time. No _real _friend's anyway. Just party-buddies, but he wasn't about to call _them_ on his deathbed. But Castiel gave him that, a real friend, and so much more. So much more so fast and he felt like a speeding comet hurtling towards a slowly extinguishing sun, braced for the impact. He was ready for it.

He was ready to fall in love.

But there was no time to.

So he sat by Castiel's bed side and cried because of what they could never have, but almost did.

He's pretty sure he fell asleep there, and when he woke up, Castiel was awake too, and the tube was gone but he was thin and _hollow_ and his eyes were so flat. He stared at Dean for the longest moment, and eventually he said, "Do you believe in an afterlife?"

Dean couldn't lie to him. "I'd like to."

"I do," he sighed, but then coughed and Dean's own chest tightened at the watery sound. And then he couldn't breathe either, and his left arm went numb –

And the next thing he knew he was on the floor, and Castiel was yelling his name and there were a string of doctor's and nurses all around him and jabbing needles in him, and then maybe at the edges of his rapidly darkening vision he saw a pinprick of light that was so _warm _and inviting, and he almost went towards it.

But then there was a shock, another electric one, and he was gasping and so very very awake.

Sam was there when he finally came to, sobbing, and Dean remembered thinking that there were too many damn tears in his life.

"You had another heart attack," Sam said when he was calm enough to be coherent.

"Where's Cass?" He should've felt bad for demanding to see when Cass when his own brother was right there in front of him and obviously a wreck but there was a sick twisted feeling in his gut and he had to make sure that Castiel was _okay _before he could worry about himself.

"What?" Sam looked up from staring at his hands. "Cass, he's fine – I talked with him, he was there when you -" And he started tearing up again, so Dean let it drop. It didn't matter. Cass was safe.

"I'm real sorry, Sammy," he whispered, accessing those emotions he tried to ignore as best as he could. "I'm sorry."

It was all he could say.

**~X~**

Castiel Novak dies on a Thursday.

It's ironic really, but the last couple days were probably his best. He smiled and laughed a lot and Dean shared more with him than he did was anyone else in his entire life, even Sam. They exchanged "favorites" (favorite movies, bands, etc) for hours, and by the end Dean had a whole list of stuff he'd get Cass for Christmas if they ever saw one together.

They cried a lot too, the both of them, and held each other and there was even one day before Cass got really, really bad that they made love and it was probably the best day of Dean's entire life. It was full of gentleness and slow movements and Dean had asked Castiel fifty times over if he was sure, and Castiel had looked at him and said it was his dying wish. The tubes got in the way half the time, but they worked it out and it was beautiful beyond belief.

The day Castiel got really bad, Dean was all out of tears.

Gabriel didn't work that day, just sat with Dean and talked about their childhood while Castiel lay unconsciousness with that stupid blue tube back down his throat, and there was blood everywhere from his previous coughing fit. Dean knew – _knows -_ Castiel like the back of his hand.

A lot can happen in seven weeks, two days, nine hours and thirty-six minutes.

It's the day after, and Castiel Novak is dead.

Dean hasn't moved from his room even though they took him away hours ago, and he's reliving the past seven weeks. He's laughed out loud already, drawing strange looks from the people in the room with him _that won't him the fuck alone _and sobbed brokenly a couple of times and he's prayed to any God that cares at all that his heart will just give out right now. Because he can't take this pain, not at all.

It's not until some time later that Sam gets him in own hospital bed, where it's cold and lonely and he's throwing things across the room and hating himself and maybe even Ellen for telling him to go up to that floor in the first place. But he loves her too for it, because without her he never would have. She comes in some time later, with this knowing look in her eyes, and she says without looking at him, "You learned something."

Dean buries his face in his pillow after that and pushes his hand onto his chest, right over his heart, hoping that maybe the pressure will trigger another attack and he can just die already. Sam actually leaves him alone until he's all tuckered out.

That night, he dreams he's in Heaven with Cass and there chasing honeybees and covering each other in honey and Castiel is still wearing that hat of his, and when Dean wakes up there's a hollow ache in his chest that hurts more than anything ever did before.

**~X~**

Dean changes his mind about staying at the hospital. He goes home to Sam and Jess, who sit Dean down and tell him they love him. And they tell Dean Jess is pregnant and they're pretty sure God's giving her and Sam this baby because of Dean.

Dean smiles for the first time in days.

His face hurts from all the grinning when Sam tells him they're naming the baby after him.

It's then that he knows for sure it's going to be okay. Sam's going to be okay, and he is too. Dean will be okay, and that night he prays. He believes in God for the first time ever and he prays to Him as hard as he can. And he tells Him that all he wanted was for Sam to be _happy_, and now that Dean knows he will be, he's ready. He's ready whenever God is, and he asks God that he'll see Castiel in Heaven with honeybees and his Mom and Dad and everybody. And that one day Sam and Jess will find them, but not to soon, no they have to live forever first.

And he tells God that because of the things, the people He gave Dean, he believes in happily ever after.

That night, Dean Winchester chases honeybees with Castiel Novak in Heaven.

_And I always say, we should be together_

_I can see below_

_'Cause there's something in here_

_And if __you are gone, I will not belong here_


End file.
